Sunday, October 21, 2007


Benny bent me forward, over the rail at the foot of the bed, thoroughly tied in place, blindfolded. I trembled in anticipation. Literally. I've had more than one man tell me that I vibrate when I'm excited.

He hit me. The first blows didn't really hurt; it was his open hand on the tough side of my ass, it's hard to make that painful. It's just plain sexy. I can get damn close to orgasm from being spanked.

But what came next was more complicated. He got out the flogger and started hitting my back, my legs, anywhere he could reach, and not just little sexy swats. It just plain hurt. And there's always a moment of panic. I know he'd stop if I told him to, and I know he watches me very carefully to make sure he's not dishing out more than I can take, but there's this instinctual split second of I'm being hit and I can't protect myself!

Once the panic was over, I closed my eyes under the blindfold and started to go deep inside my head. The pain wasn't on my back, it was pain on me, and the source didn't matter. It wasn't sexy exactly. It was something I needed, something I was eating. Even as one blow made me flinch, I was desperate for the next one. I wanted to be marked, to be bruised, to fucking bleed. The pain didn't magically turn into pleasure. I liked it because it was pain.

Up to that point, it was all relatively routine, something I've experienced a few dozen times. But then something different happened. I gave up. I stopped flinching. Stopped worrying about where and how hard the next blow would be. It didn't stop hurting, but I stopped caring. He could have used a steak knife on me and I wouldn't have stopped him. The feeling wasn't just anesthesia, though. It was bliss. It was a high. Was it even sex? Sex came before and after, but at that moment, I wasn't pleasured exactly, I was... elsewhere.

I have a back so bruised I have to sleep on my belly and a horrible craving to do that again.

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